To Heal A Lonely Heart

This Isn't Kaer Morhen

It didn't take me too long to clean up the kitchen. Most of the surfaces were dusted with flour, but it wasn't anything a damp rag couldn't wipe away. I mopped the floor though, that was much needed, even without the flour. Once the kitchen was clean again, I left the floor to dry, moving upstairs to change into my old worn leather trousers, my blouse and a new corset – since Geralt destroyed mine, almost exactly six years ago. I put my hair in a tight braid, sheathed my sword – securely hidden in a box underneath our bed – on my back, grabbed Geralt's blade, and went outside.

Geralt was just showing Crevan how to stand correctly, and I smiled, approaching, waving at my husband with his sword.

"Maybe you really show him," I called out.

"All he'll see is you losing," he smirked when I reached them, handing him his weapon.

"Mummy, you can fight?" Crevan peeped, gaping at my appearance, the sword on my back.

"Mh-mhh." I nodded. "Your father taught me. And I've fought at his side for a long time, which means I know all his tricks." The last part was more addressed to Geralt, who snorted.

"That still isn't your advantage."

"You only win because you're stronger, have a higher stamina, Witcher."

"Whatever you say, my love," he chuckled teasingly before turning towards Crevan. "Now, you'll go to the paddock, behind the fence. You'll be a lot safer there than out here. Pay attention to how we move. Not only the swords, but our whole body, especially our feet. If you don't move your feet, or if your footwork is bad, you'll stumble and fall. In a serious fight, that could mean death, got it?"

Our son's eyes went wide with shock at his father's words; and honestly, I didn't blame him. If my father had told me that on my first day of training, I would have been terrified. I slapped Geralt's arm.

"He's just a child," I hissed, crouching down to level my face with Crevan's. "Don't worry, you're just beginning. It will be a long time until you will be in a real fight. If it went after me, you'd never have to fight in a real fight, but that is out of my control, so all we can do is prepare you. And your father and I... we won't hurt each other. This fight won't be serious, even if it may look dangerous; we know what we're doing. So just pay attention to our movements, alright?"

He nodded, the fear disappearing from his little face and I ruffled his chestnut curls, stood up and went with him to the paddock, watching as he climbed through the fence before turning back around, stalking towards Geralt, pulling my sword slowly.

With a smirk, he flicked his own blade, an invitation for me to land the first hit. So, I picked up my pace and swung my weapon at him. He easily blocked, using the impact of my blow to push me back. I held my sword against his as I took a few steps backwards, before pulling it to the side and dodging underneath his arm, now standing behind him. Geralt whipped around, blade raised and lunged at me. I easily parried, landing a few quick blows. Geralt blocked every single one, spinning from side to side so fast, I asked myself if he ever got dizzy. With his last swing, he knocked my sword out of my hand, sending it flying to the ground. Triumphantly, he held the tip of his sword under my chin.

"I told you, you wouldn't stand a chance," he growled lowly.

"Oh, but I'm not defeated just yet," I breathed, then, with a quick movement, I jumped to the side, rolled and crouched right where my blade was lying in the grass. I gripped the handle and stood up. Geralt gave me a smirk and swung at me again. I blocked, took a step backwards and dodged under his arm.

This dance continued for a while; blades smashing against each other, teasing comments being exchanged. It was fun, honestly, to fight again. I didn't even realise how much I had missed it. But soon enough, since I wasn't as trained as I once was, I ran out of breath, my hits getting sloppy, blocks weak. When Geralt noticed, he landed an especially hard blow, sending my blade flying. I didn't even try picking it back up. It was no use; he'd have me disarmed in a matter of seconds. With the tip his sword only the fraction of an inch from the hollow of my throat, he smirked down at me triumphantly.